Cell of self-defeat — be shattered soon
_______________________________________

Potentially, the actual will bloom
before the disbelieving eyes of those
who, in that dismal self-containing room
can fathom not the maker as it sews
in quiet of the primal aether-dreams
that flood and roil silently in streams.

Here, a vibrant touch amidst the shade,
and there again, a dark-recessèd home
for biding spirits crouched in the dew
a-clinging to the verdant tendrils made
to twine and pad the path of all who roam
amongst the weary night to be made new.

The rusted tracks through what was once thick grove
have by the course of time been scarred and maimed
by those slow sentinels about that trove
whose hidden-treasured roots have now reclaimed
the actual invaders of the wrath
unresting, ceaseless joy of natured path.

The actual alignment of wood beams
off-kilter, have been rectified by years
of scarrèd resurrection at the seams
of kinfolk-bodies once — brought down with tears
and blood of older mem'ries than design
five-starrèd of small humanframe outline
to silhouette the past with larger thought
of what may be, and shall be surely, wrought.